Vulture

by Rhiannon Paille

Grimand let out an exhausted sigh. “Fine. Stay. I won’t ask again.” He turned and thumped across the floor, disappearing into the crowd.

  The moment he was gone Pux slid on the floor. Kaliel caught him by the arm but she went down with him, pressing her head into his shoulder. “You have until morning to decide,” she whispered in his ear.

  He put his fingers on her hand and shook his head. “You need me here.”

  Kaliel wheezed, her chest rattling as she inhaled and pulled away. “I have Krishani.”

  Pux didn’t say anything. He watched people talking and laughing, moving in and out of the hall. Kaliel had no idea how far Krishani had gone. After everything that had happened, Pux wasn’t sure if anything could be fixed.

  * * *

  3 - That Thief Girl

  Shimma waited, listening to her heavy breaths, in and out. Hours passed and the rain slowed to a drizzle. She didn’t understand how she was alive. The Daed she fought against was blind, a pulsing emerald amulet around his neck. She recalled the silver locks and loose white shirt around his feeble chest, a short sword clutched in his left hand. He swiped at her and she jumped back, reaching for the amulet. Her fingers curled around something cold and she heard a snap as the clasp broke. A bright light exploded from the orb as she fell backwards, light as intense as lightning.

  She woke up.

  He didn’t.

  Opening her eyes, she pushed his heavy body off her and glanced at his face. Chalk white, lips chapped, eyes fused open, glazed over white. She felt his cheek, ice cold. The Flame killed him, the little orb resting in the palm of her hand. She stared at it dumbfounded, wondering how—what was so powerful it could kill with a single blow. It suddenly felt heavy in her palm and she stood, stalking towards the castle. There weren’t many people on the battlefield. Centaurs huddled in a circle at the far right, cheering. Elvens and peasants tarried along the road, bringing in injured. They’d create a pyre for the dead later.

  She kept her eyes on her shoes, her long blue dress splattered with dirt and grass stains. Tears escaped her eyes and she wiped her cheeks. She was used to fighting like this. They encountered so many battles on Nimphalls she was an expert but it didn’t stop her muscles from screaming in pain.

  She crossed the grass and flowed in step with the others, cramming close to a feorn. The smell made her stomach roil, and she pushed further to the right. She hadn’t seen Kuruny or Kazza. While she was sure they could hold their own, she had a sick feeling over it. She neared the gates and someone grabbed her by the arm. She gasped and wrenched herself away from whomever it was, shooting a glare into the darkness.

  Klavotesi moved out of the shadows, his face concealed by his cloak. Shimma felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She didn’t like him, withdrawn but all knowing. He refused to show his face and that made her unlikely to trust him. She took a step back as he moved closer, a jeweled puzzle box in his hands. “You have one of the Flames,” he said, his voice monotone.

  Shimma glanced at her right hand, the orb clutched in her palm. The box opened and showed three others, Ruby, Quartz and Iolite. She drew her arm up and untangled the Emerald orb from the necklace, placing it gingerly beside the others. She didn’t want to possess the Flames, it was magic she couldn’t begin to comprehend. He snapped the box shut and she stormed off into the compound, away from his creepiness.

  She glanced frantically between the torch lights, dodging people stopped on the street. She touched one of the peasants on the shoulder and they moved out of the way. Agitation swathed her, the longer it took to find them the worse she felt. Nausea pooled from her stomach outwards, making her limbs shake. She needed real sleep, and a bath.

  She reached the stone steps, people strewn across them. Some were drunk. She took the stairs, moving into the hall and scouring. They weren’t there. She disappeared through the wings, her slippers padding softly down the corridor. Finding the room at the end of the hall, she pushed the door open carefully, hearing a hiss from inside.

  “Take it out,” Kazza gasped, clutching her shoulder blade. Her white dress was covered in splotches of blood. She sat on the bed below the window, her long brown hair around her shoulders, falling across her waist. Her hazel eyes flared with anger. She had a hand on the arrow piercing her shoulder. The bladed tip stuck out of her back. Kuruny stood over her. She snapped off the feathered part of the arrow and glared at Shimma.

  Shimma’s eyes widened, she never thought any of them would get hurt. “What happened?”

  Kuruny rolled her eyes. “The feorns don’t know how to aim, their last string of arrows hit the sky when we were already out there.” She glanced at Kazza who had her head down, her other hand cinched around a bloodied cloth in her lap. Shimma moved to the bed and put her hands around the tip of the bloody arrow. She glanced at Kuruny. Her black eyes had that determined look in them.

  “Ready?” Shimma asked. Kazza whimpered, and Shimma cringed. Their older sister had a high pain tolerance. It was unlike her to flinch. Shimma didn’t waste another second as Kuruny cleaned splinters off the broken edge. She grasped Kazza’s other shoulder to brace her for the blow. Kazza curled her hand into Kuruny’s and kept her head bowed.

  Shimma was the healer among them. She had patched both of her sisters up too many times to count. Either after gruesome rituals requiring self mutilation or from enemies they attracted simply by being themselves. She wasn’t proud of the way it had been on Nimphalls once they realized the dragon riders and weapons builders wouldn’t compromise. They fell into the ranks of the dragon riders and learned their form of magic. It was thick and dark involving blood rituals, bindings and sacrifices. Shimma closed her eyes and gripped the tip of the arrow tighter and pulled as hard as she could. The arrow slid through skin, muscle and bone seamlessly. Kazza gave a cry and hunched forward, grabbing her shoulder. Shimma picked up the cloth in her lap and quickly pressed fabric to either side of the wound. She glanced at Kuruny. “You know what I need?” Kuruny didn’t argue, gracefully twisting towards the door. She disappeared down the hall.

  “You’ll be okay,” Shimma whispered in her sister’s ear. Kazza held her body taut, refusing to move a muscle.

  “I hate this place.” Kazza managed through laborious breaths.

  “We can talk about where we’re going later,” Shimma soothed, pushing the cloth harder to the wound. Blood stained the cloth. It had already seeped through once and grown dark, now brighter spots of blood leaked into it and Shimma set her jaw.

  “Can I lie down?” Kazza asked.

  “No, you can’t fall asleep.”

  They waited. Shimma noticed how quiet it was. A faint breeze blew through the window, ruffling candles on the end tables next to the bed. They were the only light in the darkness. “What happened to you?” Kazza asked, straining her neck to look at Shimma. Kazza had her beauty despite her age. Turnip shaped face, smooth cheekbones, dainty nose, and hazel brown eyes framed by long lashes. Her eyebrows were thick and right now they were pulled tight, her forehead wrinkled with worry.

  “I killed one of the Daed, and rescued one of the Flames.”

  Kazza smiled, her teeth tinged yellow. “Was it worth it?” She gritted and looked away, stifling another gasp.

  Shimma frowned. “We won.”

  “But you didn’t win him.” Kazza chortled softly.

  Shimma gulped and let the pressure off the shoulder slightly. “That’s not why I fought.”

  “You were hoping it would, and it didn’t.”

  Shimma let the cloth go, stepping away from her sister. “Why are you doing this to me?” Her voice shrill. She felt so weak. Whatever it was with Krishani, it didn’t need to be called into question. She knew he would never love her.

  “I thought you should know he was kissing that thief girl on the battlefield.”

  Shimma sunk to the floor. She caught the side of the bed and banged her arm hard on the way down. She cradled it to her side and waited for the shocks to wear down. �
�He was kissing Aulises?”

  Kazza chuckled. “See? You were hoping.”

  “Shut up!” Shimma snapped. “Is that really what happened?”

  Kazza’s eyes went dark. “That’s what I saw.”

  Shimma slumped. She only had a moment to process before Kuruny burst through the door carrying a box of supplies. She tossed them on the bed and glanced at the two of them. Shimma got up slowly and wiped her cheeks with her apron.

  “Thanks,” she muttered as she moved towards Kazza and resisted the urge to slap her. She gingerly unbuttoned the white dress and shrugged it down from the shoulder. Kuruny wordlessly sat on the other cot drumming her fingers on the ledge. Shimma picked through the box and found iodine, needle and thread.

  “Sit still,” she commanded as she poured iodine onto a clean cloth and pressed it into the wound. Kazza let out a groan as the iodine burned her skin. She lapped up the blood on the outskirts, making sure she could see the gaping hole clearly. She paused and glanced at Kuruny who was fidgeting neurotically.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Kuruny looked up. “Huh?”

  “You’re acting weird.”

  “I heard something interesting when I was out there.”

  “And?”

  “Kaliel has returned.”

  Shimma didn’t know how to feel. Part of her was overjoyed, knowing it was the one thing Krishani wanted, but another part of her was worried. How would she handle him? She turned her attention back to the needle and pricked the skin, pulling the thread through. “That’s impossible.”

  Kuruny sighed. “I don’t know what you know about Flames, but it is possible, technically. How it happened seems impossible.”

  Shimma shot her a tempered look. “That’s what I meant.” But she recalled the golden box with the rest of the Flames and she did a double take. Maybe Kaliel had been in the box.

  “Ow, you’re digging too deep,” Kazza complained, shrugging away from her grip.

  Shimma shook away her stupor and pulled more gently with the needle. “Sorry.” She needed to get her mind off Krishani. The last time she saw him he had dark circles under his eyes and a cold pallor that would turn anyone to ice. Melting that kind of pain wasn’t easy, and it wouldn’t happen automatically. She glanced at Kuruny. “You recovered from the curse.” She said it to change the subject, but she didn’t expect the glare.

  “I’m fine now.”

  “Does that mean you’re going back?”

  Kazza coughed and shot Shimma a reproachful look. Shimma paused and inspected the wound, a fresh line of stitching through it. She sliced the thin thread with a dagger and wiped the needle on the cloth. “You want to stay behind don’t you?” Kazza sneered.

  Shimma ignored her comment and moved to the other side, crouching in front of her sister. She threaded the first loop and sighed. “I don’t think all the danger is going to evaporate. One enemy is gone, there are others you know.”

  “You really want us to stay behind and help him? Help them? After what happened on Avristar?” Kuruny countered. Shimma would have glanced at her but she was too busy with the wound. Her fingernails were caked with blood and she desperately wanted to change out of her clothes. She stifled the urge to recoil from her own smell and narrowed her eyes.

  “I’m not going back to Avristar,” she said.

  “And the reason for that is Krishani. Honestly, what do you see in that boy?” Kuruny continued.

  “He isn’t what you think,” Shimma said.

  Kazza scoffed. “Murderous and vengeful? You forget … we saw the same thing on the beach. He killed Rand, and he did it in cold blood.”

  “And he ruined Avristar which used to be a refuge,” Kuruny added.

  “He had his reasons,” Shimma defended. She knew very well what Krishani was capable of. She was the only one there when he almost killed Aulises for touching him. He had honor and loyalty. He found the Flames, he killed Crestaos. She thought about saying all of that but her sisters no longer saw things the way she did.

  “We’ll go back to Nimphalls, reason with the dragon riders. If they can see our honest intentions they’ll allow us to stay. We won’t look to reunite the sides any longer, and we won’t be traitors,” Kazza interjected.

  Shimma’s heart dropped. Kazza was the oldest and technically had authority on where they went, but this was different. She couldn’t leave and let more bad things happen. With all her skills, she could be helpful to both the people and to Krishani. She knew she’d never pry him away from Kaliel but that wasn’t the point. She was determined to be a good friend, no matter what she felt for him.

  “I agree,” Kuruny said.

  Shimma finished with the last stitch and wound the thread in a small knot. She sliced through the thread and began wiping the blade down. She needed more time and arguing with them wasn’t going to help. “You can’t leave until that heals.”

  Kazza glanced at her shoulder. “Fine, now can you ask the servants to bring me something to wear so I can get out of these bloody clothes?”

  Shimma smirked as she left. It was a small victory, but anything that allowed her to stay was a good thing. “Sure,” she said, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. She glanced back at her sister. “You can lie down now.” She let the door shut behind her as she fled down the corridor.

  * * *

  4 - Dawn

  There were so many things he didn’t want her to see. Cyclones of Vultures swooping down, devouring souls. Familiar pin pricks of frostbite gnawed the edges of his fingers as he dropped his gaze to the battlefield. A sharp gleam of a breast plate temporarily blinded him. He wordlessly quickened his steps, keeping his head to the ground, avoiding the pull in his heart, the instinctual longing to envelope Kaliel in his arms. He didn’t want to let her go. His stomach clenched at the distance, it was too much.

  He reached the body and knelt, his hand swiping across the brow. These warriors were trained. Once upon a time he was meant to join them. That was when the Brotherhood of Amersil thought he was a one of them. He slid his hand into theirs and looked for signs of life. The breast plate rose and fell once, the warrior stilled, slipping away.

  Krishani whispered the blessing and watched the white smoke rise out of him.

  He moved to the next, buried between bodies of black creatures with no souls. He pushed one of the creatures out of the way. It rolled onto its back; its lips twisted in a gruesome stare like it had died that way. He knelt beside the warrior, his breast plate covered in blood that wasn’t his. Krishani felt his neck for a pulse, lifted his hand. He whispered the incantation. Whether or not he was alive it was better than leaving him. He let the hand fall and glanced around. So many more needed help, it seemed overwhelming. He caught sight of the centaurs pulling wounded off the field, slinging feorns and elvens over their backs and trotting through the grass towards the village.

  He glanced at the unwavering Vulture-filled sky, and took a deep breath. He couldn’t let Kaliel see him, broken and black. It wasn’t something she had known, the ways of the Ferryman, the disease caused by the Vultures. More than anything he wanted to recapture the boy he had been when he met her.

  So much of that boy was gone.

  He caught sight of a Vulture descending from the sky. It created a streak through the air like a tornado. He raced towards it, hoping to break it away from the body. He skipped over corpses, almost lost his balance, hands trailing over weapons and armor, all of it dangerously close to slicing him. He probably looked like an idiot flailing his arms and racing towards someone near dead. He tripped over something and rolled in the grass his body landing near something hard.

  “Who’s there?” a raspy voice asked.

  Krishani pushed himself up. They were alive enough to speak. He glanced at the centaurs and wondered if he should call them. The Vulture dipped, circling, and Krishani narrowed his eyes. Whoever it was, he wasn’t going to live. He glanced at the face and recoiled, vomit rising in his throat. He swallowed
it down forcefully and averted his gaze. He never asked why Handele wore a full golden mask and gloves. He thought it was a symbol of his leadership. The golden face mask was pushed over his forehead, the gloves attached to his hands. Skin blistered and slid around on his face, his nose slumped to one side like it had been bent in half. His eye sockets were droopy, showing the bulb of his eyeball. His mouth twisted into a smile.

  “What happened to you?” Krishani asked. His heartbeat hitched as the Vultures stung in his insides with frostbite. He tried to ignore the physical symptoms and stared into Handele’s blue eyes.

  “My daughter,” he began, faltering. “Tell her it wasn’t the leprosy that killed me.”

  Krishani gulped and nodded, gripping the golden glove. He remembered Melianna, her long brown hair, her bouncy smile. She served Lady Atara at the Elmare Castle in Avristar. He wasn’t going to tell Handele he was never going back there, that someone else would have to deliver the message because he was exiled. It didn’t seem right to burden a man with the truth while he was on his death bed.

  “I’ll tell them you fought hard,” Krishani said, trying to sound compassionate. He was dizzy with the will to live, resentment against the Vultures building to a steady crescendo. The pulse of the Vultures dug into Krishani’s spine and he winced at the pressure. “Ready?”

  Handele nodded. “Don’t forget, it wasn’t the leprosy.”

  Krishani sucked in a sharp breath. Kaliel mentioned it once, and a tea that would cure it. No matter what he put himself through or how far from himself he became, the memories of her were always crisp and clear. He stifled the urge to simper at the pain spreading through his chest. This time the Vultures weren’t numbing him, his insides fought back, pushing away wisps of blackness threatening to sink into his bones.

  “Amenally nawva callen armalta,” he whispered.

  Handele gasped and his hand fell limp, his head lolling back. His body shook with tremors for a moment, then smoke rose out of his mouth.

  The Vulture pressed close to Krishani’s ears and hissed something incomprehensible. It slipped away, its tendrils twisting into the starless sky. Krishani turned and fell on his hands. The left one was pale white, completely bereft of the inky marks that used to trail along it before the battle. He glanced at his right hand and grimaced at the stain of night still swathed along it. He grunted and hitched up the tunic and chainmail enough to glance briefly at his lower torso. It was a pale white flash in the otherwise blind night.